


the game at hand

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Iron Bull wants to know more about Lavellan's mark. And Wicked Grace nights are never not interesting.





	the game at hand

**Author's Note:**

> For the [kink meme prompt](https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47413365#t47413365): "The whole gang is drinking at the Skyhold tavern and Iron Bull makes a joking comment to the inquisitor about how weird it must feel to jerk off with his glowy green hand. Before M!quisitor can try to deny that he would never ever do such a blasphemous thing, Dorian drunkenly declares that 'it tickles a bit.'"
> 
> You should also check out the other fill for this prompt, because not only was the other anon faster than me at answering but they also managed to do the prompt justice: [Summerday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902592). A more recent third fill was also added: [Another Way To Use The Mark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3372083).

It was late into another night of Wicked Grace, and there were only a few members of the inner circle who remained willing to risk the ever-raising stakes. Across from Lavellan, Cullen was already fiddling with his collar nervously, though he stayed in for every raise on each hand. To Lavellan’s left sat Dorian and Sera. Varric was on his right. Josephine and Iron Bull sat on the other side of the table with Cullen. Empty mugs were shoved to the far end of the table, creating a rather intimidating fortress that had been accumulating for hours.

“So, boss, you’re left-handed?” Iron Bull asked, taking another long drink.

The question seemed oddly placed in the midst of the well-deserved joviality. Lavellan frowned at his hands. He had been using his left hand to hold the cards for the game, but he used his right to throw his coins into the pot. “I suppose. I use the left for most things, but it depends on the task.”

“You shouldn't encourage him,” Dorian said to Lavellan. The fond words were paired with a near-exasperated roll of his eyes. He stood from the table, clasping Lavellan’s shoulder affectionately. “I’ll just use this opportune timing to fetch the next round of drinks, shall I? Seeing as how I am a giving soul and it would seem that we’ve outlasted the servers.”

Bull grinned and waved Dorian off, “Don’t leave out the good stuff, boss, we want details!”

“No, I  _really_  don’t think we do,” Cullen interjected quickly, cheeks already reddening at the hint of salaciousness in Bull’s tone.

“Josephine’s on my side,” Bull directed towards Cullen, laughing. Actually, Josephine  _was_  looking at Lavellan’s hand, the one with the mark, with undue interest. Cullen made a noise of despair.

Varric said, “Calm down, Curly. Save the hysterics for when Ruffles wins the shirt off your back again.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed.

Lavellan’s brow furrowed in confusion. He asked, “What do you want to know? I draw my bow in the right-handed style—as I’m sure you’ve noticed—but I write with the left. There are probably other things, I haven’t given it much thought.”

“With the mark, it does not impede..?” Josephine pursed her lips and let the question trail off.

Before Lavellan could ask for clarification, Cullen said, “This really isn’t appropriate to ask the inquisitor.” He sounded resigned now.

“Is a curious thing. Can’t say I’d be doing much touching in  _areas_  if I had that thing on my hand. Being touched. Touching. Either ways. For reasons,” Sera said.

The current hand of the game was well and truly forgotten, so Lavellan set his cards down and looked at his hand again. He flexed the fingers, which caused the rift-glow to brighten in response. Now that the rifts were sealed and Corypheus gone, they could afford to breathe again. With those threats banished to memories and nightmares, the mark didn’t fill him with foreboding as it once did. Nor did it seem an alien thing attached to him. It just was.

“It doesn’t pain me, if that’s what you’re asking. It was strange at first—like a fire in my nerves that didn’t burn. It’s hard to explain. But I’m used to it now.”

Iron Bull laughed. “But what about, you know,” he made a lewd gesture, to which Cullen answered with a choking sound and let his head fall to the table in his arms so he wouldn’t have to watch. Bull continued on as if he didn’t notice, “Tugging the nug? Polishing your staff? Cranking the—”

“My dear inquisitor, they  _merely_  want to know if we’re all in danger of a rift opening in Skyhold every time you need a bit of release,” Dorian said, setting one drink in front of himself and another in front of Lavellan carelessly enough that the liquid sloshed over the sides. Although he said it lightly, displeasure was plainly etched into Dorian’s face. He slid back into his seat, crossed his arms, and pressed his shoulder tightly to Lavellan’s. The dark expression was abated somehwat when Lavellan pressed back. Dorian said, mollification doing nothing to dim his sarcasm, “Because  _surely_  you’ve been chaste as a Chantry sister all this time.”

“That’s not a ‘round’ of drinks!” Sera protested. She gestured at the grand total of two drinks for the table of seven.

“Alas, I got tired midway through. The perils of sending a mage to do the heavy lifting or some such.”

“I’ll peril you,” Sera said in a mutter.

Iron Bull’s gaze had not wavered from Lavellan. Nor had Josephine’s. Lavellan squirmed.

“I, uh,” he said, blushing. His embarrassment was clear in every uncomfortable line of his body. “No, I won’t be opening rifts by accident.”

“Leave the poor man alone, you voyeurs. As if he hasn’t earned a bit of privacy by saving just the entirety of fucking Thedas!” Dorian said; Lavellan had only heard him this angry once before. Emotion crackled off of him like tangible magic, charged as lightning and as hot as fire. “Seeing as how I haven’t been quite literally tumbled into the Fade yet, I think your indecent curiosity should be sated. If you need more details than that, I’d merely describe it as a pleasant— _very_  pleasant, truth be told—tickling sensation, and suggest we get back to the game at hand." He paused, "And I do not mean the inquisitor’s hand.”

At the outburst, even Cullen’s head snapped up from the table. Everyone’s eyes fell to Dorian, who tensed further against Lavellan’s side at the scrutiny.

Then the tension broke.

“Well, shit,” Varric said, laughing and nodding to Iron Bull. “I'm glad we didn't actually bet on that. I have to say that I didn’t think Sparkler would own up to it. Not that everyone in Skyhold doesn’t know anyway.”

"Hate to say I told you so," Bull’s grin widened. He sat back in his seat, chest puffed out proudly. “The mage has a bit of a protective streak. You don't need to be Ben-Hassrath to see it.”

“You are something of a private sort,” Josephine said apologetically to Dorian. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd ever trust us enough to tell us yourselves."

Dorian looked to Lavellan, who looked back at him in turn with confusion across his face. Dorian said, a touch sheepishly, “I do believe we’ve been played, amatus.”

“You might be right,” Lavellan answered, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. He offered his left hand with the palm up to Dorian. Dorian considered it a moment before taking it in his own so that they lay intertwined on the table. It did, indeed, tingle warmly against his skin.


End file.
